


A Quick and Easy Guide to Destorying a Man's Faith

by ImperviousMarr



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cock Tease, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, God!France, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Please read it's not what you think, Priest!England, Religion, Religion Kink, Repost of a classic, Shameless Smut, Smut, well written, witty humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperviousMarr/pseuds/ImperviousMarr
Summary: After years spent learning and working at the temple, Arthur becomes the High Priest to the God (insert insanely long and difficult name here).As Initiation he has to enter the holy chamber, where he will meet his god.The god is not what he expected.See God!Francis molesting his cute new high priest, while Arthur is getting more and more annoyed but has to stay polite and submissive. Francis finds that even more funny (and sexy as hell) and ends up fucking him over the altar.Bonus: Francis can't believe what they changed his name into.Bonus 2: One of the religion's foundations is celibacy, which Francis finds very not-funny. On the other hand, that means his high priest is a virgin.((This isn't my fic, this was taken from LiveJournal and a repost of a classic smut that's very humorous, but SUPER hot, I promise!))





	A Quick and Easy Guide to Destorying a Man's Faith

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT MY WORK! 
> 
> I've reposted A CLASSIC SMUT!

Francis was late. However, he was also a god, so it was highly unlikely anyone would pick him up on it. It was a good time to be a god, he thought; in the beginning, creating the world had been an awful lot of hard work, and then there was a lot of fighting and vying over a place in the new world, but right now, Francis had it made.  
  
Religion was a fairly easy thing for a god to start. You turned up, impressed a human or two with some tricks, set down some basic rules and then let them get on with it. Some chose to continually interfere with their followers, Francis's friend (or the closest a god could get to a friend) Gilbert was prime example of this. He demanded tribute twice a week and thought up the most ridiculous rules just to see the humans follow them. It was for this reason that his religion was practised almost exclusively by masochists.  
  
Francis took a more laid back approach. He preferred to let the humans go about their lives and just turn up for the perks. Perks just like the one he was late for. It was surprising how easy it was to be late, even when one could materialise anywhere at the slightest whim.  
  
Francis considered, for a moment, appearing in an awe-inspiring display of power, but quickly decided it would be far too crass. That was something Alfred would do, whose religion seemed to be based entirely on getting over-excited by things that were 'awesome'. Alfredians, on the whole, tended to be very easy to woo and exceedingly dull to spend any amount of time with, in Francis's experience (and he'd had plenty).  
  
In the end, he decided to appear in the main chamber of his Great Temple without a sound. The room was huge, a great feat of human engineering and very much an improvement on the little wooden hut everything had begun with. The long windows had been shuttered, letting no light in from outside, and the room was lit with thousands of candles. Francis always felt the place was more atmospheric that way. He looked up to the vaulted ceiling that was shrouded in darkness and breathed in the familiar smell of incense. Despite the years since his last visit, everything was just as he remembered it.  
  
The room was silent, save for the echoed whispers of a prayer. Francis turned to the altar and found his newest recruit kneeling before it, head bowed and hands clasped before him. All Francis could see of him was a tuft of blond hair, his robed back and the bottom of his bare feet. Francis grinned wickedly. He always enjoyed initiations.  
  
“Waiting for someone?” he asked softly, though the words carried easily across the chamber.  
  
The man before the altar started and scrambled to his feet. He turned around, already scowling, gathered his robe up and began stalking over to Francis. “How did you get in?” he demanded.  
  
Francis spent a second openly staring – those had to be largest eyebrows in creation – before he smiled charmingly and, using one of his stock godly phrases, said, “I willed it and it was so.” He also let just a hint of the divine shine through, just in case this man was not the subtle type.  
  
The man's (oh, what was his name? Francis had been told... oh yes, it was Arthur, wasn't it?) eyes widened almost comically and he immediately dropped to the floor in supplication and a clatter of beads. “Please, Lord, forgive me, I did not realise it was You.”  
  
Francis said nothing in reply. He was, as always, enjoying making the poor man beg for his approval.  
  
“I-I am but Your humble servant,” Arthur said in a quavering voice, “I dedicate my life to Your worship,” Arthur paused but Francis said nothing, instead taking his pleasure from watching Arthur squirm. Francis was far from offended by anything Arthur had done, but there was no need to let him know that just yet. “I offer m-myself to You, mind, body and soul,” Arthur continued, by now shaking with nerves. Staring at the floor as he was, he was unable to see the smile on Francis's face. He took a deep breath before he finished with, “O great and almighty Fyrraellnschxicze.”

 “Please,” said Francis, the smile on his face a little stiffer for having heard the name, “Call me Francis.” He wondered if they'd ever move past that little naming problem. Unfortunately, as the other gods continuously reminded him, that was what happened when you decided to start a religion by revealing yourself to a drunk man. (He'd been aiming for the daughter but, due to extenuating circumstances, had ended up in the wrong room.)  
  
“Forgive me i-if I mispronounced,” said Arthur, sounding more panicked than ever. “I have studied Your name a-and Your teachings for years. Please,” he was now verging on desperate, “I meant no offence to You!”  
  
“No, no,” said Francis lightly, finally taking pity on the grovelling priest, “You said it fine.” He waved it off with his hand. “But do call me Francis,” he said seriously, then more quietly to himself, “Can't have you spraying spit everywhere every time you say my name.”  
  
If Arthur heard the last part, he made no indication of it. “Thank you, Lord. Your mercy is boundless.”  
  
“It's nothing,” Francis assured him. “Now, stand up, I want to get a good look at my newest High Priest.”  
  
Hesitantly, Arthur rose to his feet. His eyes flickered around as if he was unsure what to look at and finally settled on the floor.  
  
Francis smirked and suddenly every candle in the room flared a thousand times brighter. Arthur startled and looked around at the candles, alarmed by the new lighting situation. Otherwise he remained standing stock still. Francis caught his eyes before they aimed down towards the floor again. They were a stunning green and reminded Francis of the world when it was young, before anyone had started carving their mark into it.  
  
Francis slowly circled Arthur, taking in every aspect of him. He had very good posture for a priest; bookish types were often slightly hunched from poring over texts late at night, but Arthur stood up straight. His body was, of course, mostly hidden under his robe, but what Francis could see of it gave the impression of a scraggly, thin man, probably without much muscle. The mess of hair on his head definitely gave credence to the scraggly theory.  
  
Overall, though, Arthur stood tall and proud (yet with eyes still averted), he looked like he hadn't quite fully grown into his body yet. It wasn't something your average person would be able to see, but Francis was something of a connoisseur of bodies and could tell these things. He spent the last quarter of his circle admiring the way the robe, while being loose, still managed to show the curve of Arthur's arse, and the pleasing glint of the jewellery he was bedecked in. Francis had designed it all himself many years before, but had yet to be displeased with the outcome.  
  
“You're very young for a potential High Priest,” said Francis once he returned to Arthur's front. Arthur finally met his eyes and let a small, proud smile show, the first Francis had seen from him.  
  
“The youngest in five hundred years,” Arthur confirmed.  
  
“You must be very... dedicated.” Francis dropped the lighting back down to its original level. The flickering light and soft shadows set just the right mood, though it did mean that Arthur's eyes got lost beneath the monstrous monoliths of his brows. Even gods had to make sacrifices sometimes.

 “This temple has been my life since I was a boy,” Arthur started eagerly and rather, Francis thought, obliviously. “I spent as much time as possible in the library and knew all the scriptures by heart by the time I was ten.” Arthur was apparently going for the whole life story. “I have spent time in the school, teaching the children of Your unending grace, I've been on a mission beyond the Southern Forest,” Francis hoped he wouldn't go on too long. “I visit the elderly and the infirm when they cannot leave their homes to worship, I collect alms for the poor, I... I tried cooking for the homeless but... they insisted they were safer if I didn't, I helped set up a camp for the displaced after those floods last year,” Francis wondered if perhaps he should've taken a leaf out of the other gods' books and made pride a sin. “I follow Your every teaching and observe the Month of Frogs, I stay true to my vow of ce--”  
  
Francis held up a hand, cutting off Arthur's flow. “I get the picture, you do lots of good things.”  
  
“I always strive to do more,” insisted Arthur, “All in Your good name, of course.”  
  
“You don't even get my name right,” grumbled Francis (in a godly way), “I'm not sure you can really call it my good one.”  
  
“I'm sorry?” Slightly concerned by Francis's less than glowing reception, Arthur looked away uncertainly. He seemed to have got it in his head that eye contact was in some way offensive. Honestly, the things mortals would come up with.  
  
“Never mind.” Francis rolled his eyes, giving up the naming issue for the lost cause that it was. Then he decided it was time to get down to business. “Do you realise you're not wearing your robe properly?” He approached Arthur and placed a hand on the side of his neck.  
  
Arthur's eyes widened and he stared at the floor intently, as if he were trying to crack the great stone slabs with willpower alone. Francis could feel Arthur's heart beating frantically and the warmth of the flush slowly crawling up his skin.  
  
Francis slowly – far more slowly than necessary – slid his hand down Arthur's neck, over his many necklaces, and across his shoulder until the robe slipped off it. Francis stood back and surveyed his work. Arthur was still staring wide-eyed at the floor, cheeks and lips tinged a healthy pink, with his robe hanging off one shoulder and looking overall quite ruffled. It was a good look for him. “There,” said Francis, very pleased with himself, “That's much better.”  
  
Arthur pulled at the ties on his belt, making sure they were still tied tightly. “I don't mean to question Your wisdom,” he said uncomfortably, “But if I wear it like this, it feels like it'll slip off any second.”  
  
Francis grinned wide. “I'll let you in on a secret.” He leaned forward, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes. “That's the point.”  
  
Arthur looked confused briefly, an expression which looked adorable even with the eyebrows, but he didn't question Francis's reply. Instead, he nodded seriously and let his hands fall to his sides. He recomposed himself and took a deep breath. “Lord Almighty,” he said, gazing somewhere past Francis's ear.  
  
Francis was about to insist that Arthur call him by name, but then decided that 'lord' wasn't such a bad way to be addressed. “Yes?”  
  
“Would You permit me to ask a question of You?”  
  
“Yes, of course.” One single question couldn't hurt, could it?  
  
“How do we alleviate the flooding?” Arthur asked the wall behind Francis.  
  
Oh, for... what did it take to get this man in the right frame of mind? Usually all he had to do was give a mortal the time of day and then they were putty in his hands. “What flooding?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

Arthur baulked a little but carried boldly on. “The river has flooded twice in the last five years. If we have angered You in some way, please tell me how we might appease You.”  
  
Francis sighed an wiped a hand over his face. “You haven't angered me. It's a river. Flooding is what rivers do.”  
  
“Then why haven't You answered our prayers?” Arthur snapped before he remembered himself. “I-if it's not too bold a question.”  
  
Oh, there was some anger there, Francis noted. That was different. His little priest must have some fire in him to snap at a god like that. Francis's annoyance vanished; there was surely some way to use that passion for something far more appealing than floods, and Francis was going to find it. “Because if I answered prayers, I'd have no time to do anything else! And have you listened to them? So dull.”  
  
Arthur flushed even darker and clenched his fists. For just the merest moment he met Francis's gaze and glared at him intensely before he looked away again. “I am sure,” he said through clenched teeth, “That You, in Your boundless wisdom,” he slowly got himself back under control, “Have far more important things to attend to than our,” he was almost back to his careful neutrality, but he faltered at the next word, nearly spitting it out, ”Petty problems.”  
  
“Quite,” Francis agreed, enjoying the flash of anger in his priest's eyes. “Now,” he said, circling behind Arthur and placing a hand on either shoulder. “I couldn't help but notice earlier,” he kneaded Arthur's flesh, but the man remained tense, “That you pledged your body to me.”  
  
Arthur tensed even further.  
  
“I, for one,” Francis whispered in his ear, “Would like to see my new acquisition.” Francis slid a hand down Arthur's back until it came to rest lightly on his rump. “In all its glory.”  
  
Arthur leapt forward, out of Francis's reach and turned to face him, clutching his robe closed and slipping it back onto his shoulder. “You're a pervert!” he said, looking scandalised.  
  
Finally, he was catching on.  
  
“I merely want to look upon my own creation,” said Francis reasonably. Not that humans had, strictly speaking, been one of his creations. Birds were more his area of expertise. But Arthur didn't need to know that.  
  
“Fine,” said Arthur, reaching for the abundance of beads around his neck.  
  
“Leave the jewellery on.”  
  
“It's not jew--” Arthur stopped himself and huffed. Then he inclined his head towards Francis. “As you wish, Lord.” Arthur undid his belt.  
  
Francis smiled.  
  
Arthur hesitated before he finally let the robe slip off and pool around his feet.  
  
Francis smiled wider.  
  
Arthur stood, looking more like a petulant child than someone trying to impress a deity, but Francis found it more endearing than anything, and it certainly didn't stop him from admiring.  
  
He'd been wrong in his earlier assessment; Arthur did have some muscle on him. Arthur was healthy but lean and, Francis suspected, firm. His skin was the same startlingly pale shade all over, the dark wooden beads he was wearing stood out in stark contrast against it. Francis's eye was particularly drawn to the pendant resting in the centre of his chest. It was a rooster – Francis's symbol. Francis decided he liked it there.  
  
Francis dropped his gaze lower and raised an eyebrow at what he saw there. “That's not part of the outfit.”  
  
Arthur shifted awkwardly and fiddled with one of his bracelets. “It felt... indecent to come in here without any underwear on.”  
  
Francis snorted a laugh, this poor man had joined the wrong religion entirely. “That's barely underwear,” he pointed out. It was a very small leather thong that just about contained Arthur's most vulnerable parts.  
  
“Should I remove it?” Arthur asked, then added, “O Great One.”  
  
“No,” said Francis thoughtfully, “It actually goes quite well with the rest.” Francis grinned then, and went up to Arthur and put his arm round him. Arthur bore it with minimal shuddering. “Next,” said Francis, “I must ask you how much experience you have.”  
  
“Experience?”  
  
“Sexual experience,” Francis clarified, “You do know where this is going, don't you?”  
  
Arthur sighed. “I had an inkling.”

 “Well then. How much?”  
  
“None,” said Arthur simply.  
  
Francis shot a look of disbelief at his priest. The man was far from ugly, took good care of himself and with all the good deeds he did, he clearly got out and met people. “Arthur,” Francis warned, “It is not wise to lie to a god.”  
  
“I'm not lying.”  
  
Francis forcibly turned Arthur to face him. “Look at my eyes.” Arthur did as he said. “Now tell me, how many women have you slept with?”  
  
“None.” He wasn't lying.  
  
“How many men?”  
  
“None.” He wasn't lying. Francis was aghast.  
  
“...Animals?”  
  
“No!” Still not lying.  
  
“What about your own fist?”  
  
Arthur's cheeks coloured at that question and he glanced away, clearly embarrassed.  
  
“Eyes,” Francis reminded him.  
  
Arthur met his eyes again, but no answer was forthcoming.  
  
“How often?” asked Francis with a knowing smile.  
  
Arthur fidgeted and coloured further before finally admitting, “Daily.”  
  
Francis felt a flicker of delight and pulled Arthur towards him. “That's good,” he said, giving Arthur's backside a squeeze (and oh yes, it was deliciously firm), “I was worried you were a complete freak.”  
  
“Me, a freak?” said Arthur into Francis's shoulder. He struggled to be free of Francis's embrace and Francis let him go to speak. “I resisted temptation, Lord,” his contempt was barely restrained, “I looked the other way every single time, O Omniscient Father.” Francis frowned at the sarcasm but Arthur wasn't paying attention. “I did it to keep my vow of celibacy to You.”  
  
Francis frowned further. “Your vow of what?”  
  
“Celibacy!” Arthur was edging into yelling territory. “I abstained from sex despite my desires! I was mocked endlessly by my brothers and they described to me in great detail exactly what I was missing out on,” all of which, as far as Francis was concerned, explained an awful lot about Arthur, “But I resisted because of my devotion to You!”  
  
“Why would you,” Francis took a deep breath and braced himself, “Abstain from sex,” Ugh, he’d have to wash his mouth out after this, “Because of me?”  
  
“Because that’s what priests do!” said Arthur viciously.  
  
Francis stepped back. “No,” he said, “You're wrong. People wouldn't,” he laughed, “They wouldn't do that because of me.” He looked into Arthur's eyes.  
  
Arthur still wasn't lying.  
  
Rage flared inside Francis. People were... In his name?! Tarnishing his good reputation! One he had been carefully building up for millennia. These people were going to disgrace him completely. It was a wonder no other god had already found out. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't be able to show his face anywhere for centuries if that happened. How could his people have strayed so far? Who had lead them astray?  
  
He was going to find that person, one way or another, and make them rue the day they came into existence.  
  
A clatter of beads drew Francis out of his thoughts to find Arthur kneeling on the floor again, forehead pressed to the stone slabs.  
  
“What are you doing down there?” he asked.  
  
“Forgive me, Lord, forgive me. I spoke out of turn, I didn't mean it. Please, O Merciful Lord, do not punish anyone else for my mistakes, forgive me,” Arthur babbled in reply.  
  
Francis looked down at himself and saw flames. Ah. He extinguished himself and tidied his hair. “Get up, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur flinched back. “Please, do what you want with me, Almighty God, but don't take it out on Your people. Please.”  
  
“I'm not going to smite you, Arthur.” Francis wasn't a heartless god. He wasn't about to completely disregard the torture Arthur had put himself through on his behalf, even if it was utterly misguided.  
  
“If you are going to smite anyone, Lord, it should be me!” Arthur replied, even more panicked.  
  
“I'm not smiting anyone,” Francis assured him, “Not because of you, anyway.”  
  
Arthur looked up at him hopefully and oh, by all the Heavens and the Earth, that man looked good on his knees.  
  
“Get up,” Francis insisted.  
  
Unsure, Arthur rose to his feet. Francis paid special attention to the way his muscles flexed and tensed beneath his skin.  
  
“Now, this has all been very enlightening.” He put his arm around Arthur again. “And I am appalled at what has been done to you. No one should have to go through that.”  
  
Arthur looked at him in astonishment.

“I want to make it up to you,” said Francis sincerely.  
  
“Make it up to me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Make up for the fact that, in less than half an hour, my entire life up to this point has been made a mockery of?”  
  
Francis thought about it. “I wouldn't put it quite like that. I'm sure people are still grateful for all the good things you've done.” Arthur looked at him forlornly. “But, well, yes.”  
  
“How?” Arthur asked.  
  
“What if you could tell your brothers that your first time was with a god.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
Arthur looked blankly back at him. “Are you just trying to fuck me?”  
  
Francis threw all caution to the wind and said, “Yes.”  
  
Arthur considered it. “All right then.”  
  
Francis grinned like a cat that had got the cream. He ushered Arthur over to the altar, Arthur's anklets jingling with every step now there was no material to muffle them, and sat him upon it. Immediately and with very little ceremony, Francis let his clothes evaporate off into the air. Arthur stared at his suddenly naked form in shock, his eyes gravitating to one place in particular. Francis had been sure not to make himself too large, out of deference to Arthur's inexperience. He took a moment to bathe in the attention before he moved onto the last item of clothing between them, pifflingly small though it was.  
  
He laid a hand on Arthur's hip and then followed the cord across to the front of the thong. He smiled at Arthur's slight intake of breath and rubbed him through the soft leather a few times. “Where did you get this?” he asked, though his hand didn't still.  
  
“M-made it myself.” Arthur was quick to respond to Francis in all ways and soon the thong had to go.  
  
“Have you done anything like this before?” said Francis once there was no barrier left between them.  
  
Arthur's blush deepened. “I've... experimented.”  
  
“With?” Francis prompted as he closed his hand around Arthur's cock.  
  
“Oh,” said Arthur breathlessly, “With fingers, and... and....” Arthur looked away, simultaneously aroused and ashamed.  
  
“And?” Francis pumped his hand slowly.  
  
“Annnd a... a carrot.”  
  
Francis hummed his approval. Perhaps Arthur hadn't joined the wrong religion after all. “And if I were to do this?” He trailed his hand down Arthur's cock, over his balls and then lower.  
  
“W-what?” said Arthur, alarmed, “Dry?”  
  
Francis smiled and held up his hand. He rubbed his fingers together and oil started to seep out from between them and run down his hand.  
  
Arthur stared in a disgusted kind of awe. “That's...”  
  
“Divine?” Francis offered.  
  
Arthur declined any further comment.  
  
Francis urged Arthur to lean back on his elbows and nudged his legs wider apart. Before he could do anything more, Arthur gasped.  
  
“Oh, for goodness' sake!” he cried out.  
  
“What is it?” asked Francis, baffled, as both his hands were resting on Arthur's thighs and he couldn't see what would be troubling him.  
  
“Is this why the altar is so well padded?”  
  
Francis chuckled. “The padding was a very early addition, yes.”  
  
“That's ridiculous,” said Arthur, frowning deeply. Francis was almost impressed by how uptight the man could be even when sprawled in front of his god, about to be taken for the first time. “I bet they were all down here having fucking orgies while I was up in my chamber being a good boy,” he spat.  
  
“And wanking,” Francis reminded him.  
  
Arthur sputtered and tried to close his legs, but Francis held them open. “That was out of necessity!” he said defensively, thinking what Francis said had been a jab at him.  
  
“I know it was. That was a terrible thing to do to you.” Francis kneaded Arthur's thighs soothingly. “I'm completely on your side.” He would, naturally, have said this to anyone that was only minutes away from giving their virginity to him, but this time it had the added bonus of being true.  
  
“Oh.” Arthur pouted, looking so cute that Francis had to restrain himself from just devouring him right there. “Carry on then.”  
  
Francis inched his hands up Arthur's thighs, certain now that they would stay where they were, and leaving streaks of oil wherever he touched. His fingers slid easily to Arthur's entrance and rested there against the muscle. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on Arthur's hip. Then he pushed the first finger past the initial resistance.

Arthur's breath hitched, but he gave no other sign that he'd even noticed, which just would not do.  
  
Francis moved his hand from Arthur's hip to his cock, encircling it and stroking it languidly. Then he crooked his finger just so and watched the shudder run through Arthur's body. He began moving his hands together, in the same rhythm, starting off slow and gradually building. He leant forward over Arthur's chest and took a nipple into his mouth, lavishing attention on it with his tongue.  
  
Arthur's head dropped back with a groan. “Oh G-- G-goodness.”  
  
Francis bit lightly on the nipple in his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud.  
  
The altar was the brightest part of the room with four large, tall candles around it, one at each corner. Francis looked up from his position and took note of the way sweat was starting to bead across Arthur's skin. His eyes were once again drawn to the shining golden pendant in the centre of Arthur's chest.  
  
Grinning mischievously, he swiftly placed a hand over it and pressed it into Arthur's flesh. Arthur yelled out, tightening in surprise around Francis's finger. Francis returned his hand to Arthur's cock as Arthur looked down at his chest to see what had been done.  
  
“You branded me!” he shrieked in disbelief. Sure enough, there was Francis's rooster burnt into his skin.  
  
Francis grinned as he nuzzled Arthur's jaw. “This way, no other god will be able to touch you.”  
  
“What?” Arthur bristled. “You think I'm suddenly going to become a wanton whore for the Gods?”  
  
Oh, what a tantalising image. “You don't know them like I do.”  
  
Arthur didn't look very satisfied with that answer, but Francis put an end to discussions when he added a second finger. Arthur gasped and shifted his hips, forcing the fingers further in. Francis smirked but said nothing, continuing what he had been doing before and slowly undoing Arthur, stroke by stroke.  
  
The third finger did not go so smoothly. Arthur hissed at the added intrusion, but it only made him spread his legs further. Francis rewarded his willingness and soon Arthur was panting heavily, struggling to keep his moans in.  
  
Arthur's elbows slipped from under him and he fell back, splayed across the cushioned altar. He covered his mouth with one hand and squeezed his eyes shut against Francis's onslaught on his body.  
  
Seeing this, Francis gently removed Arthur's hand from his mouth. “Don't do that,” he said playfully, “I want to hear you sing my praises.”  
  
“If we weren't in the High Temple,” said Arthur between his other noises, “I would say that you – aah – were a demon.”  
  
Francis chuckled lightly. “That is not the first time I've heard that.”  
  
“Then,” Arthur looked down at him, “There've been others like me?”  
  
“No,” said Francis thoughtfully as he withdrew his hand, “None quite like you.” He trailed his fingers over the brand, then shook his head and lined himself up. Catching sight of Arthur's slightly worried look, he assured him, “This is supposed to be fun, so relax and enjoy it.”  
  
Arthur nodded, but his expression hadn't changed.  
  
Francis pushed forward and breached the tight ring of muscle.  
  
Arthur's breath hitched and Francis felt him tense and clamp up completely. While tightness was usually a desirable trait, it was possible to have too much of a good thing.  
  
“Relax, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur did not relax, instead deciding to whimper with pain.  
  
“Look at me, Arthur. Relax.”  
  
Arthur looked at him, eyebrows drawn together with worry, but still did not relax. “I am relaxed!” he insisted, despite being wound as tight as a bowstring.  
  
For crying out loud, this man was impossible.  
  
Before anything could get any worse, Francis cupped Arthur's cheek and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Through the kiss he conveyed exactly what it was being relaxed felt like. It suddenly occurred to him that it was entirely possible that Arthur actually had no life experience regarding relaxation. He pulled back and watched Arthur's reaction.

Arthur looked up at him, slightly shocked, then blinked languidly. He took a deep breath in, and then let it out. With the breath went every ounce of tension in his body.  
  
Francis slowly slid in all the way to the hilt.  
  
“Oh.” said Arthur, as though he'd just realised something absolutely fundamental to life.  
  
Francis moved, at last letting himself take his pleasure. As always, it was better for having waited.  
  
In a jingle of anklets, Arthur wrapped his legs around Francis's waist and pulled him in. They began working together, finding a rhythm and the right angles, exploring each other's body with hands and mouth.  
  
For all that Arthur was inexperienced, he was a very quick learner.  
  
Some gods, for whatever reason, thought themselves above such Earthly pleasures. They isolated themselves with philosophy and moralising and slowly went stale in their safe little cocoons. While Francis enjoyed philosophising just as much as the next god when the time was right, as he could feel his peak nearing, he pitied the ones that thought themselves so high and mighty. He gazed down upon Arthur's face: the flush of life in his cheeks, the look of concentration he was still holding on to and his bright, shining eyes.  
  
Francis relished Arthur's fingernails digging too deeply into his back and the edge of the altar scraping against his thighs. Those gods had never seen the beauty in the imperfections, had never felt the rush of being so open and vulnerable that they would let themselves feel the bite of a man's nails. It was something so raw, so basic and constant, and it encapsulated everything that he loved about the world.  
  
Francis felt his end coming on and he turned Arthur's head to meet him in an impassioned kiss. As he came with a final thrust, he shared everything he was feeling with Arthur until Arthur pulled away in favour of babbling Francis's name over and over, sometimes as a name, sometimes as an oath.  
  
When Francis had come down, he pulled out of Arthur with an obscenely slick sound and re-clothed himself. He then sat on the altar next to the thoroughly debauched priest.  
  
“Arthur,” he called softly, running a hand through Arthur's sweat-dampened hair. “Have you returned to Earth yet?” He usually considered using divine powers during sex as cheating, but it was a rule he broke whenever he felt the situation deserved it.  
  
Arthur rolled over towards Francis, a beatific smile on his face. “No,” he said, and then giggled.  
  
Francis wished he could stay longer, but the peacock mating season was starting and, well, they always had been his favourite creation.  
  
“Well, when you get back, can you do something for me?”  
  
“Certainly, O Great,” Arthur fought back a fit of giggles, “And Almighty Lord.”  
  
“Ban celibacy.” He twirled Arthur's hair around his finger; it wasn't like it could get any messier. “People should have sex with whoever they want. Priest or not.” He looked down at Arthur, who was doing his best to look serious. “Except for you, of course.”  
  
Arthur giggled, then realised that Francis wasn't joking. “What?!” he cried as he leapt to his feet, only for his legs to collapse beneath him.  
  
Hrm, perhaps Francis had overdone it on the rapture.  
  
“You can't...!” Arthur hauled himself back up onto the altar. “You can't do... do that to me,” he gestured towards the wet spot, “And then tell me 'never again!' I'll go mad!”  
  
“I didn't say 'never again'. I said 'not with whoever you want'. It is, in fact, almost the complete opposite of 'never again',” he stared at Arthur meaningfully.  
  
“Oh.” Arthur raised a hand to his chest and traced the symbol burnt into his flesh there. Then he frowned in a way that suggested he'd just come back to Earth with a bump. “Hey! I'm not just your fuck-toy!”  
  
Francis pushed himself off the altar and walked to the centre of the room. “Tell it to your congregation.” He straightened his sleeve unnecessarily, “I'm sure they'll cry for you.”  
  
“So when can I next expect you to turn up, begging for sex?” Arthur called across the room, not risking his legs' strength again.  
  
Francis snorted. “I can't tell you that. I can tell you, though, that I'll never be the one begging.”  
  
And with that, he disappeared.


End file.
